


à votre service

by fardareismai



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Prompt Fic, why be straight for 300 years?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15776154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai/pseuds/fardareismai
Summary: A pirate who is a gentleman, a con man who is a hero, and a time loop that is half magic and half tech.(A prompt fic from Tumblr)





	à votre service

**Author's Note:**

> Wholockgal (who I can never say no to) prompted me with two prompts. The first was simply, "Captain Jack Harkness meets Captain Killian Jones."
> 
> The second was "I thought you were my friend so I slapped your ass and now I definitely don't know you... oops?"

Jack Harkness desperately needed to get out of London.  His broken Vortex Manipulator had dropped him twenty years after the ascendency of Victoria Regina and England was just so…  _Victorian_.

He’d spent the previous evening in his room at the boardinghouse quietly mourning his ship (the Chula Warship, not the _other_ ship about which he refused to even _think_ ), and in the morning his feet had taken him, all unthinking, to the docks.

It was nice to see the ships, even if they could only travel in two dimensions.  Early in his days with the Time Agency, Jack had spent the early 1670s in the Mediterranean, hopping from pirate vessel to pirate vessel.  It had been a fine time- he’d made friends and, somewhat to his own surprise,  _friends_.

Jack knew the rumors and, better than most, knew that history washed away sex in general, but even he had been surprised to discover the number of men with proclivities similar to his own.  Even more surprising had been their creativity and imagination- and these guys had never seen a 51st century porno!

He found himself standing before a mid-sized brig that looked like something either out of time or out of a fairy tale and, deciding he liked the look of her, made a snap decision.  He was up the steps and on the deck before the voice of reason (a low northern drawl that he’d taken to tuning out in recent days) could convince him otherwise.

As he’d expected, his arrival on deck was greeted by the flash of swords and the cocking of flintlock pistols.  Odd that, he thought idly, when better weapons were available in these days.  It was almost as though he’d gone back to the old days somehow…

“And just who do you think you are?” a nasally, whiney sort of a voice asked.

Jack found the speaker, a small, rat-faced, round-bellied man in a red stocking cap, sneering as he sighted down the end of his flint lock pistol.

Jack didn’t quail.  He knew he was in no danger from the pistol (though explaining why he hadn’t been might get him keelhauled).  Instead he straightened his back to military stance and spoke carefully.

“My name is Ca- Jack Harkness-” _he’s not a real captain, Rose_ , “-come to offer my assistance to the master of this vessel.”

“And what gives you the idea that the master of this vessel needs assistance?”

This voice was lower, more cultured, but Jack did not turn to face it, he kept his eyes carefully on the pistol before his nose.

“I have served on such ships before, sir, and know that another pair of hands and a strong back is always of assistance.”

An indefinable ripple went through the men surrounding Jack and he knew he’d found a mark.  He’d thought the group a little small for a ship so large, and a small crew meant a tired crew.

“What other vessels have you sailed with?”

Jack wanted to turn to face his interviewer, but Rat-Face still hadn’t lowered his pistol, and he was in no mood to be shot in the back today.

He decided he had no recourse but the truth, and gave it.

“I served with Edmund Cooke for a time until he was taken by Philip Fitzgerald, after which I served with his crew.  I was instrumental in helping him write his book, as he was near illiterate when I met him.”

Rat-Face frowned, clearly not recognizing the names, and lowered his pistol a few inches.  Jack took his opportunity, and snatched it from him, skimming it expertly across the deck so it was nowhere near any of the men currently threatening, and turned to face the man who had been asking him questions.

Unlike Rat-Face, this man’s eyes were narrowed in calculation, and Jack knew that this man had understood Jack’s references as pirates from two centuries past.

To his additional shock, the face before him was one that Jack knew.  It had been just under a year ago, and three-hundred years in the future when he had first seen this bright-eyed, dark-haired, square-jawed man.  He hadn’t recognized him then, but he did now, and he remembered the name.

“Killian Jones,” Jack breathed.

The man raised one thick eyebrow.  He, alone among his men, had no weapon in hand, though as Jack remembered, one of his hands _was_ a weapon.  Yes, there it was, the wicked silver hook he recalled.

“A votre service,” Killian Jones said with a sarcastic, flourishing bow.  “You know my name?” he asked, still in French, which his crew seemed not to speak.

“You told it to me once,” Jack said in the same language.  “I mistook you for a friend and you knew me.”

“How can that be, as I don’t know you now?” the Captain- for it was clear that was who he was- asked.

“Time Travel,” Jack said, and held his breath.  This side of a time loop was always tricky to navigate.  It was easier for non-time-travelers because they never really knew the consequences.

Killian Jones, however, seemed unfazed by this news, and just nodded.  “That would explain your knowing Cooke and Fitzgerald then.  What brings you to-” he looked around and shrugged, “-this time?”

“An accident.  I’m waiting for a friend, but I’ve time yet, and wanted to get out of London.  Instinct guided me to your ship.  Will you have me, Captain?”

Killian Jones hesitated for a moment then grinned and switched back to English.  “I say we have a new crewman, lads!”

**~?~?~?~?~**

Jack scanned the nightclub looking for the Doctor and Rose.  It was a technopunk-style place (chosen to suit Jack and the Doctor’s tastes) in New York in the first half of the 21st century (to suit Rose’s) and was full of people and lights.

Jack had wanted to see the Original New York, here in its heyday, and had promised to meet his traveling companions around 9:30 or 10.  He wasn’t late, but it was always possible that they were, given how the Doctor drove…

There!  Jack caught sight of two heads bent close together at the bar, one black and one blonde, and he began pushing through the dancing, seething crowd to get to them.  Every few feet he stopped and looked again, checking that he was still headed in the right direction.

It took him nearly 5 minutes just to get across the place, but when he finally made it to the other side, he hurried to the Doctor’s side and smacked his ass in a friendly gesture.

The man who turned to look at him had a prettier face than Jack had expected- square jaw, a sharp blade of a nose, heavy dark brows over eyes that were bright enough to flash even in the uncertain light of the pub.

The blonde woman wasn’t Rose either- she was older and a little harder-edged that his Rosie, but just as beautiful.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Jack said, confidence vanishing uncharacteristically.  “I thought you were somebody else!”

He turned to go but stopped in his tracks when a low, pleasant voice said, all-unbelieving, “Jack?  Jack Harkness?  Can that possibly be you?”

Jack turned slowly and, sure enough, it was the pretty, dark-haired man who was speaking, his eyes wide with recognition and warmth.

“Do I know you?” Jack asked, searching his face, trying to find something he’d seen before.

The man looked at him for a long moment and then shook his head.  “No, apparently not.  But you will.”  He held out his hand.  “Killian Jones, à votre service.”

Jack frowned down at the hand extended, then back up at the compelling face.  “How do you-”

“You’ll know my name when you meet me next, never fear, Lad,” Killian said.  “You explained it all to me then- what I could and couldn’t say.  Never fear.”

“Jack Harkness isn’t a name I know,” the blonde woman said, leaning forward to join the conversation.  “Unless you’re known to jump over candlesticks.”

Killian smiled.  “Jack’s not a legend you’d know.  Not yet anyway.  Jack, this is my wife, Emma.  Emma, Jack served with my crew back when I was working for Pan.”

“Pan?” Emma said, frowning.  “But that was two-hundred years ago!”  She looked Jack over and smiled.  “You look good for it, but the cute ones always manage to.”

“Two hundred years?” Jack asked, looking between the two.  They didn’t look like Time Agents but…  “How?”

“Magic,” the pair said together, nonchalantly.

“Why?” Emma asked curiously.  “How do you manage to get 200 years in the future?”

“Time Travel,” Jack said, hoping it would throw her.

It didn’t.

“Cool,” was all she said.

“Are you here with someone?” Killian asked.

“I’m waiting for a friend,” Jack said.

Killian shook his head.  “Always the way with you.  Well, let me buy you a drink while you wait.”

When the Doctor and Rose arrived finally, they teased Jack about his ability to “make friends” everywhere he went.  Jack, however, barely heard them as his head was filled with the gentle kiss that Killian had placed on his mouth and the whispered promise, “you’ll see me again soon.”


End file.
